Shirley ♕ 001

[truailligh]

Who: truailligh and ilpromenade
What: Checking out her place of solace/trying to get back on an even keel
Where: Her place of solace
When: Day
Warnings: Maybe some language? Oh and misbehaving jukebox

Comments

[showmeshinies]

Music. The sound came to his ears from several streets away. Jarlaxle cocked his head and listened for a moment. It didn't sound like anything that would be coming out of the place he was looking for, but the new sound intrigued him. He followed the noise through the busy streets, winding his way inconspicuously in and out of the daytime crowd to the source

[truailligh]

With the music playing and with her so absorbed in her cleaning, she didn't hear the stranger when he came in and she jumped in surprise, stopping what she was doing as she looked the newcomer up and down. She hadn't really talked to anyone face to face since her arrival; even the people in her house had been kept at a distance as she tried to piece together what she could but it would do her good to talk and maybe attempt to make friends.

She almost snorted to herself. Friends wasn't something she'd been particularly good at but punters at the pub had always managed to get on relatively well with her and so she smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear absent-mindedly. Whatever this person happened to be would be new to her - she hadn't seen anyone like that at all when the pub had been back where it belonged in London.

"Hello," she finally said, composure more or less recovered, smiling at the...whatever-it-was in the doorway, "I'm Shirley, welcome to Alea Iacta Est, magically relocated by some means from London to Promenade."

[showmeshinies]

Magically, hmm? Jarlaxle approached the bar (making sure to let his boots and assortment of bright jewelry jingle naturally) once she had recovered her composure, eyes on the alluring woman before him. She was certainly a thing of beauty, as he found most women to be. He tilted his head slightly, and offered her a smile that held just the right hint of confusion. "I am Jarlaxle." The drow swept his hat off his head and across the floor in a low bow better suited to a prince than a dark elf clad in adventuring clothes. The movement revealed his bald head and long, pointed ears that were covered with piercings.

"You'll have to pardon me," he said. "I have no idea what 'London' is. Is that the name of the place you're from?"

Jarlaxle watched her face closely, red eyes looking for any physical indications that she might be lying to him. He was well-trained in such things and wary of any potential enemy spies. With the ball finally rolling on gathering information, he could not afford any mistakes.

[truailligh]

Someone was certainly resplendent and Jarlaxle had just won himself more than a few style points with a self-confessed fashionista although there was a certain quality to it that seemed more suited to something out of a fantasy film or maybe something historical if it was veering close to the wind, playing fast and loose with the facts. The ears gave an eyebrow raise and part of her mind said elf but elves had always been pale and slender with L'Oreal worthy hair that seemed impractical for a race so associated with archery of all the things. At least she had a name. Jarlaxle. Nope, no help in trying to secure an origin though but she was already starting to become used to that and it hadn't even been a week yet in ths stupid city with its ridiculous set of rules for day and night